A Ring

A ring is a circle, never ending.
Always round the corner bending.
Intertwining lives as a way of blending,
And sometimes needing a little mending.

This ring shows a garden that needs some tending,
And a little quality time I need to be spending.
I don't want to see this ring meet rending,
And I will fight the good fight, always fending.

A ring is not a machine with the purpose of vending,
There is not giving, taking, or lending.
There is, however receiving, as well as sending.
And you may find some promises pending.

The ring has no superiors ascending,
Nor any parties with which it's contending.
You must be careful and lack pretending,
Or else you may find you're the ring's offending.

I wish not to miss out on the ring,
As it gives my heart a reason to sing.